The Fall Of The House Of Saud
By Mark Daniell
14/06/2018
Oh come on! You’re secretly delighted. What’s a World Cup without The Mouse and Keys giving you the lowdown on gritty nil nil draws between countries Glenn Hoddle’s never heard of? Not a World Cup, that’s what!
And this time round it’s even more fun as we’re going to get regular impromptu and uninvited input from 3 and 7 year olds, which is always valuable and appreciated and uninvited and we love them very much.
Who’s going to win between Russia and Saudi Arabia?
3 year old: Russia.
7 year old: Serbia.
Both right. Saudi Arabia didn’t win. But enough chit chat. We’ve got a World Cup to review.
First off, come on, who didn't feel the warm glow of comfort as they settled back on a weekday afternoon to witness a packed stadium, two rubbish teams, Clive Tyldesley on vocals and awkward geopolitics on display? Frankly, in England, I’ve noticed a distinct lack of hype about this World Cup (where are all those shitty little flags jammed into van windows? And the Mars ads? What’s going on? Do they even make Mars milk any more? I want to work, rest and play - at breakfast - where am I supposed to turn now?), but even with the muted UK atmosphere I couldn’t help feeling a sense that all is right with the world as long as we have Russia v Saudi Arabia on ITV.
And so it was. Straight off the bat we got a speech translated by a voice that simultaneously said whatever propaganda Putin put out (eyyy…), simultaneously pleaded, how did I end up here? and simultaneously lamented, I’m not paid enough for this kind of life. That’s a lot of simultaneousness to pipe out on a weekday national broadcast, but ITV handled it like a pro. As did Gianni Infantino, who stepped straight up after Poots and declared “Football will conquer Russia”. I mean that’s classy, Gianni. How many human beings have stood in front of the leader of Russia in Moscow and announced that they will “conquer Russia”? I don’t think any, frankly. Expect maybe Ghenghis. So that’s two now, Ghenghis and Gianni. Badasses.
Gianni then did the honourable thing and seated himself slap between Crown Prince Saudi and Tsar Poots and judiciously wobbled his head, half in celebration and half in commiseration, as every Russian goal went in. Such diplomacy didn’t slip by Tyldesley mind you, as the two leaders shook hands in an international display of “no hard feelings yeah?” Clive chipped in with “they’re doing an oil deal. You’ll know about it at the pumps on Saturday morning… Actually there’s a big OPEC meeting next week, I think, in Vienna.”
You “think” do you Clive? Just a hunch?
This is the best thing about the World Cup: those tiny glimpses we get of the research that Clive Tyldesley and Glenn Hoddle have done before the games. Actually let’s just leave that with Clive, the last thing Glenn researched was how to write bum on a wall, and he still can't get it. Bum, Glenn, it's BUM.
You know, it’s a funny thing, but who’d have thought you’d ever feel sorry for the Saudis? And yet that’s what football does: you watch them dash about with real pluck for a good ten minutes, quite clearly with no idea how to play 11-a-side football, and eventually you come to like them, and to feel sad as the Russians slowly work out that the Saudis really, really don’t understand anything about formations or tactics or any fashion of defending at all. To be fair, Russia made a concerted effort of pigging it up, but even their mediocrity finally clicked that the Saudis had never encountered the concept of crosses and headers.
Annoyingly, I stopped watching at 3-0 because, well it was the kids’ supper time and I haven’t hooked up an aerial to the other TV yet (it’s being dealt with), and I missed the two crackers Russia scored in injury time. So I did what any self respecting World Cup viewer would do and turned to YouTube to get the highlights, only to find that the videos had already been removed as they breached FIFA copyright. That’s fast moving legal work right there; that smells of authority; that smells of someone doing a job right; that smells like it’s come straight from the top:
“You coming to bed now Gianni?”
“Just five more minutes hun, some ballshaft in Canada’s uploaded a clip of Dzagoev’s hamstring injury. Nuh-uh Jack London, not on Gianni’s watch.”
“Well don’t take off that Pitbull outfit till I’ve seen you dance. I want the full show tonight.”
“Nurrrrgh.”
Celebrity spot of the day:
double goalscorer Denis Cheryshev = T2000
Gianni Infantino = Pitbull
Name of the day:
Fyodor Smolov
As in: what does Fyodor Smolov to you?
Are you kidding? What else could Fyodor Smolov? That’s the Smolov yeast.
Kit of the day:
Full green Saudi shirt shorts socks and shoes combo. They live in a desert, I imagine they’ll look like a moving forest of cacti as they trudge home.
Moment of the day:
Clive Tyldesley on discussing the merits of the Russian manager’s moustache. “Hmm… Stalin had a proper tache.”
You know it Clive, say what you like about genocide as a twentieth century system of government, nothing should cloud the appreciation of a proper top lip.